Silence
by Nightwitch87
Summary: After Claire's death, Alex's life has disintegrated. It is bad enough by day, but by night, it's not only his dreams that haunt him...oneparter.I know that this topic is overused, but reviews would still be greatly appreciated.


Disclaimer: All characters of the TV-show „McLeod's Daughters" are owned by "Nine Network", the "South Australian Film Corporation" and "Millenium Television". This is just a fanfiction, which was not written for profit.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: Hey, I know that there have been tons of fanfics about this, but this one was just weighing on my mind one night. I wrote it in German, initially, but translated it, so this version might have suffered a little. Any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated, as always, including(gasp) criticism! ;)

**Silence**

_Don't stop…come on, Ryan…faster…just don't stop…faster! He couldn't do it, just couldn't do it. His limbs felt like lead, his feet seemed to be drawn to the floor by some kind of magnetic force; he could hardly breathe. No matter how far he ran, an end of the tunnel was out of sight. Only the walls appeared to come closer, pressing him, and the cragged channel became narrower and darker. The darkness was about to consume him…_

_He panicked, what if he wouldn't make it in time? It would mean the end, he had to find it! What was it again…his mind kept spinning, if only he were able to think clearly! What was it!_

_His throat felt cramped, the fear overwhelming him, why didn't he arrive? He kept running, faster, further, deeper into the tunnel, the tunnel out of which there was no escape- he had to find it! The walls seemed to be whispering…faster…faster…you won't make it…_

_And then, it dawned upon him, with a horrifying certainty: He couldn't possibly make it anymore, the time was up, he had come too late! Too late. The words resonated inside him, he should have been faster. _

_Angst…darkness…a pair of lifeless, blue eyes, staring ahead blankly. _

Alex awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, like so many nights before. His heart was racing madly, his body stiff with fear and his head full of nebulous, confusing images he couldn't quite place. For a moment, he was staring into the darkness, utterly disoriented, before it became clear to him that it had all been a dream. Just a dream, he was at home, in his bed, everything was alright…

But suddenly, just as powerful, the truth hit him, and he felt the magnitude of the events of the previous weeks…the accident…Claire…nothing was alright. The pain of it overwhelmed him, running through every fibre of his body, and he clenched his teeth to avoid screaming. It hadn't been a product of his imagination, it was true, his worst nightmare met reality.

He yearned for the moment, this one instant right after waking up, when he had felt like himself again- nothing like this man he had been for precisely 27 days and God knows how many hours.

Alex got up, stumbling across his room. It was pitch-black; the moon and stars were apparently covered by clouds. Finally, he found the door that lead out into the corridor, opened it, and felt around for the wall, shuffling into the living room alongside it. He turned on the light, gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the unbearable brightness, and scuffled across the room towards the refrigerator, which was opened and scanned by him. Milk. Beer. Left-overs from Nick's pasta sauce. Butter. Moldy cheese.

He registered it with disinterest, and closed the door again. Why had he opened it at all? It had escaped his mind. Probably just to be able to do something, something that gave him an excuse so he didn't have to go back to sleep. Had he been a smoker, he probably would have lit a cigarette.

But Alex didn't smoke- if anything, he drank. And yet he resolved to stay sober, at least for one night. Alcohol did benumb his pain for a short period of time, but after that, he only felt worse. He'd get drunk, wake up somewhere with a headache, with no recollection of how he had even gotten there, barf his guts out…and then? It wouldn't change a damn thing, he thought, everything would be just as it had been before.

He'd rather go to a rodeo, one with a decent brawl afterwards. To get trampled by a brumby, that was it, that was easy and…clear. Contusions and wounds made so much more sense than thoughts, they displaced this feeling of gaping hollowness. Pain made sense where there was no more sense. He felt like shit on the inside and the outside, it was as simple as that.

She was gone. He was slowly beginning to grasp what he had tried to repress. The full meaning of the unimaginable words "never again" had burned itself into his mind. What the shock had staved off at first, was utterly clear to him now: He would never look into her eyes again, never hear her voice again, never hold her again, never talk to her again, never tease her about something again, never go for a ride with her or train horses again, never watch her do simple things again…never tell her how much he loved her. He, Claire and Charlotte would never be a family. And, worst of all, she would never see her daughter grow up.

He couldn't get Claire's gaze out of his mind- this ghastly moment, when he had seen the emptiness in it and had realized that she hadn't survived the fall. She had never closed her eyes, had faced death openly. All of it had happened in his absence, without a goodbye.

Alex slumped onto a kitchen chair. He had no more tears left. He just couldn't do it anymore, as much as the thought of it hurt him. What remained was merely the void, the bleak emptiness Claire had left behind…and this awful night, the humming sound of the fridge, the ticking of the old clock on the wall.

All that he wanted was silence, he didn't want to think, to feel anymore. Why hadn't he driven into town for her, why hadn't he had this accident? Why Claire McLeod, who had a small child, Claire, who led a farm, Claire, who had finally found some happiness in her life? It should have been him, Alex Ryan.

If only he had one moment to tell her what he had never been capable of saying…

He got up, walked over to the house bar, opened an old bottle of Scotch and poured himself a glass. Every second of numbness was worth it.


End file.
